Sleep
by torsdagengel
Summary: Cas learned to sleep with Dean by his side. He learned that it was okay to let his mind wander and slip away into unconsciousness, that he would be safe, because Dean would always be right beside him.


**Rating:** PG13**  
Fandom: **Supernatural  
**Pairing(s): **Dean/Castiel  
**Warnings:** human!Cas, possible English mistakes  
**Spoilers:** none. **  
A/N: **So I think this was _very_ mildly inspired by an episode of the Twilight Zone where this guy dies in his sleep and they're all like, 'oh well at least he died peacefully', but he was actually having a really terrible dream when he passed. I sort of morphed that concept with a couple other ideas I had, and it sort of developed a mind of its own, so I'm not sure how this turned out. Also, this _is _hurt/comfort, so happy endings for everyone! Yay! Anyway, I hope you enjoy!

* * *

Cas learned to sleep with Dean by his side. He learned that it was okay to let his mind wander and slip away into unconsciousness, that he would be safe, because Dean would always be right beside him, often with a protective arm draped lazily around his waist, and sometimes, usually after something bad had happened, Dean would pull him close in an almost needy embrace, and they would both wake up at some obscene hour, tangled in each other's limbs and sweating from their combined body heat.

Needing sleep wasn't so bad with Dean around; he made being human okay.

The problem is, humans don't live forever. They're fragile and die unexpectedly, and now Castiel has been left alone in this bed.

He can't recall the details for the life of him. All he knows is that it was quick and sudden and devastating, and now Dean is gone. He's scared, lying here alone, and the lack of the welcoming heat he had grown so accustomed to feeling beside him is a constant reminder of the emptiness where a part of him has been ripped out and taken away for good. It's too cold and too lifeless, too empty.

Castiel tries to close his eyes, but he can't manage even that simple task. He knows that sleep will not come to him, so he lays there quietly, too tired to move, too lonely and afraid to sleep.

An expanse of time passes, possibly minutes, maybe hours, before Castiel recognises the wetness on his face. He's curled in on himself, physically feeling the painful emptiness eating away at his heart as his entire body is wracking with each sob that escapes him.

"Dean," he calls out brokenly in mourning, the sound of his own voice quiet and distant.

The pain is quickly becoming more and more physical. Everything hurts. He wants to get away, but he can't move a muscle. It hurts so bad, but his body is just too heavy.

"Dean," he cries again through another uncontrollable sob that causes his chest to contract, and it _hurts_.

Castiel is sure he must be dying now. There is some unnamed problem with this human body, and he will be gone soon.

He tries to comfort himself, saying he will be with Dean again, but he's still afraid. He's terrified. These stupid human instincts are telling him he should live. Maybe he would if Dean were still here, if he weren't lying here alone in this bed that's much too big for just one person.

"Dean," he sobs one last time before white hot pain takes over his senses. There is a steady, distant beeping somewhere in the distance, but it's nothing but unnoticed background noise in Castiel's mind. For a brief moment, he thinks he can hear Dean's voice telling him that he's here and it's okay, but it's hard to focus with all this _pain_.

The voice passes through the barrier once again, spouting something that sounds frantic and angry. It isn't directed at him, but Castiel catches some of the words, picking out small phrases along the lines of, 'having nightmares…hurting him…I think I know when…'s your fucking job…_do something_', before everything just stops.

The next thing he can tell, he's in his bed again, alone and mourning, afraid and missing Dean.

The pain is gone, or the physical part at least. He still can't recall just how it happened, but the emptiness is painfully present nonetheless.

He finds himself quietly sobbing once again, and for a moment he can almost feel the warm ghost of Dean's hand stroking comfortingly against his cheek. He tries to lean into the touch, but the attempt is weak, and suddenly he can't feel it at all anymore.

"Dean," he whimpers, defeatedly, sad and broken and so utterly alone.

He's able to close his eyes now, and this time he hears it clearly, "S'okay, Cas. I'm right here… not going anywhere."

Castiel knows he didn't mishear. Maybe he's dreaming, or maybe he died; either way, he can't bring himself to care.

He tries to open his eyes, but his muscles won't cooperate. His eyelids are suddenly the heaviest thing in the world. He isn't giving up though.

He tries to call out Dean's name again, but only the vowels really make it past his lips. It doesn't matter though, because his effort elicits the beautiful sound reaching his ears once again, "S'okay, buddy… s'okay," and he registers strong fingers gently carding throught his hair.

Finally, he's able to wrench his eyelids apart, only to be be attacked by blinding whiteness that forces him to shut them once again.

He gives it another go, slowly this time, blinking his way back into the world. The steady beeping is back, making its way onto Cas' radar this time.

"Cas?" he hears to the side of him, Dean's voice quiet, almost tentative, "You awake there, buddy?"

The former angel nods slowly. It makes his head feel funny.

Dean huffs a sigh of relief, and suddenly he's pressing their lips together with all the desperation and need that he could never admit to with words.

"Christ, Cas, don't ever fucking do that again! I mean, I know you don't try to, but you're a stealthy little fucker, and you can't - you can't just pop out of nowhere, man. People don't see you!"

Castiel is taking in his surroundings. He's in a hospital bed, propped up just slightly. The beeping, he realises, is coming from a heart monitor, and there's an IV in his hand that is wrapped up in thin, yellow coloured bandages with a print of little cartoon bees on it.

Dean catches him staring at the oddly decorated dressing and explains a bit sheepishly, "They had to borrow from the children's ward. I thought you would like that one since… well, bees."

Castiel nods and shifts his gaze back to the hunter, content to simply look at him. It all makes sense now; it had all been a dream, a horrifying, awful, hellish dream, and Cas can't bring himself to care about anything but the fact that Dean is sitting next to him, alive and well and holding onto his hand so tightly.

"What are you smiling at," Dean says a bit playfully to mask the remnants of worry still clinging to his voice, "You almost gave me a fucking heart attack, you stupid dick."

Castiel furrows his eyebrows.

"My apologies, Dean, but… I do not recall what it is that I've done that has caused you great distress and should not be repeated in the future."

The hunter pauses for the briefest of moments.

"You got hit by a fucking car, Cas," he says, a bit darkly, "Guy was going at least thirty-five… probably closer to forty."

Castiel just stares at him blankly.

"Christ, Cas, do you have any idea what the mortality rate is at that speed? Five broken ribs, punctured lung, nasty concussion… _fuck_… Cas, you were clinically dead for almost four minutes!"

The former angel takes a long moment, seemingly lost in thought about what Dean had told him, but he changes the subject when he speaks.

"I had an unpleasant dream," he says quietly, a little distant.

Dean watches him closely, waiting for him to say more, but he doesn't.

"You wanna talk about it?" the hunter asks.

Castiel shakes his head.

"Later," he says, "I am alright now."

Dean squeezes his hand, holding it safely in both of his own and bringing it up so Cas' fingers brush against his lips.

"I feel strange," Castiel mumbles, "Like I'm floating."

"You're on pain meds, Cas," Dean explains with a smile and a small laugh, simply happy to have Cas by his side, alive and awake.

They sit there for a length of time that is unclear to either of them. They don't talk much; they don't need to. The rest of the world is mush for the time that they sit there, clutching each other's hands and just enjoying the relief brought on by the fact that the other is alive.

Dean doesn't leave his side for a single minute the entire week that Cas spends in the hospital, and he keeps especially close whenever he's resting, cause if he couldn't sleep alone before, he wouldn't even be able to let his eyes shut now, not without Dean directly beside him.

He's like a small child, in more ways than one, and Dean buys him a stuffed bat with big, floppy wings from the hospital gift shop in hopes that it might play the role of a teddy bear or security blanket.

He knows it's cheesy and fucking stupid, and he's embarrassed as hell to give it to him, but apparently Cas likes it, because he names it Lars (although Dean has a sneaking suspicion that that's the drugs talking), and the next time he falls asleep, he's cuddling with it, its soft, fuzzy wings wrapped around him like a blanket that doesn't even cover his shoulders.

It should be weird, seeing a grown man snuggling with a stuffed animal, but of course Cas only manages to make the image utterly adorable. Somehow, Dean manages to resist the urge to snap a picture on his phone, because he is absolutely not that much of a sap.

Cas still clings to Dean's hand for dear life, but this time around, he sleeps a little easier.

* * *

I hope that ended up making sense. I tried to sort of portray the confusion that comes along with vivid, frightening dreams, but maybe I only managed to make this hard to follow.

Reviews are highly appreciated!


End file.
